‘There’s a fantastic art college near where we live in Cornwall, you know,’ he says.
I raise my eyebrows, not knowing quite how to respond to this.
‘You’re a free agent, Holly. You have no-one else to consider now. You can go anywhere you like in the world, and Cornwall’s just as good a place as any. In fact, it’s better. I know I’m biased, but it’s a dream location for anyone studying art. All those beautiful seascapes and glorious scenery.’
My heart bumps faster at the thought of attending art college. Sylvian’s right. Once the cottage is sold, I can go anywhere I want.
I sigh. ‘It must be so lovely living right by the sea.’
He nods. ‘It is. When I’m there, I do my morning yoga on the beach then I run along the edge of the sea for miles if the mood takes me. It doesn’t feel like a work-out. It’s pure pleasure.’
‘It sounds wonderful.’
He settles back down on his back and snakes his arm around me, pulling me into his side. It feels so good lying there, breathing in the balmy night air, so close to Sylvian I can feel his heart beat. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
‘By the way, how do you know Layla?’ I ask, suddenly remembering I’ve been meaning to ask.
‘Layla?’
‘Yes, you know. Layla. She lives at Rushbrooke House?’
‘She’s nice,’ he says. ‘Very clever and wise for her age. She likes you a lot.’
‘Does she?’ I ask, pleased. ‘So how did you meet her?’
He’s silent for a while. Then he chuckles. ‘That would be telling.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No.’
‘Please?’
He squeezes me closer. ‘Absolutely not.’
I laugh. ‘No, come on. Spill. Or I’ll tickle you.’
He smiles. ‘Sorry, I’m sworn to secrecy. Layla’s stipulation, not mine.’
‘You can tell me, though. I’ll keep your secret. You can trust me.’
He leans over and kisses me very gently on the lips, which feels heavenly. ‘I’m sure I can,’ he whispers. ‘But I’ve given Layla my word. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to start the tickling.’
‘Right, mate. You’ve had it!’
A tickling session ensues and soon I’m giggling uncontrollably, while trying desperately to keep the noise level down. It is four in the morning, after all, and I really don’t want a reputation for getting up to mischief on the village green at all hours …
Later, when we’re lying all relaxed again, staring up at the stars, I start thinking about Bee again. Who is he? Where is he? Does he live here, in the village? What if he lives in one of these cottages overlooking the green? What if my laughter has woken him up and he’s looking out even now at the two people lying staring up at the moon?
But that’s too mind-bending a thought. There’s no point fantasising about who my granddad could be. I need a concrete plan if I’m going to find him.
Perhaps I should confide in Sylvian. Being an objective outsider, he might have some constructive ideas about what I should do. Because right now, the inside of my head is about as clear and capable of logic as a muddy puddle.
But just as I’m about to broach the subject of the diary, he squeezes me closer and says, ‘Holly? Have you ever heard of tantric meditation?’
SEVENTEEN
It’s nearly six and already light by the time I finally fall into bed. I think I will sleep now, thanks to Sylvian.
I’d drifted off for a while on the green with Sylvian’s arms around me, and I woke just as the sun started to rise. We parted with the delicious thought of Midsummer Night on our minds. He still won’t tell me what he’s got planned.
A banging on the door drags me from sleep less than three hours later. My head is pounding and my mouth feels dry, almost as if I have a hangover. It must be because of the events of yesterday. Finding those extra pages in the diary. Learning I have a granddad I never knew about. It was all so emotional. Then spending such a lovely time with Sylvian.
The tantric massage sounds amazing. Incredibly powerful. I’ve never heard of it, I must say. But I’m looking forward to exploring it with Sylvian on Monday!
Yawning, I pull on my dressing gown and go downstairs.
It’s Layla, wondering why I’m not over at Ivy Garden. She’s in a petulant mood, having fallen out with Prue again – over very little, as far as I can make out.
As she grumbles away, I can feel myself growing impatient. I’m exhausted after last night and I want to be on my own so I can really think about the startling new development in my life. Bee.
But Layla keeps ranting on about Prue, following me around the cottage to make sure I hear every last shouty syllable, making my headache even worse.
At last, I cry, ‘Stop!’
She halts in mid-sentence.
‘Layla, your family loves you, so why not stop criticising them and start appreciating what you have! Honestly, have you any idea how lucky you are?’
She’s staring at me, shocked, and I’m already regretting my outburst.
Pursing her lips angrily, she blurts out, ‘It’s all right for you. Ivy thought you were wonderful, but my family just thinks I’m a waste of space!’
‘So make them proud!’ I say, gently but urgently. ‘Stop hanging around at the bus stop wasting time with Josh and doing whatever the hell it is you do round the back of the newsagent’s with Sylvian!’
She looks alarmed. ‘What? Sylvian? But it’s nothing—’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve seen you with him, thick as thieves the two of you. And I saw him hand you parcels. I dread to think what you’re up to – and with a man who’s almost twice your age.’
I’ve obviously hit home. She’s glaring at me, her face flushed with anger.
‘Sylvian is a nice man,’ she says tightly. ‘He’s – helping me.’
‘What about the parcels?’
She flushes scarlet. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Look, I’m just saying this because I care about you and I don’t want you wasting your life. You’ve got a brain. You could do so much more.’
‘So because I like talking to Sylvian, I’m obviously up to no good?’ she yells.
‘You tell me.’
She laughs incredulously. ‘You don’t think there’s actually something going on with me and Sylvian, do you?’
‘Well, is there?’
‘No! I’m hardly going to fancy him, am I? I mean, he’s really old.’
‘He’s no more than thirty!’
She shoots me a puzzled look. ‘Yeah, exactly. He’s ancient.’
I decide to let that one pass.
‘Look, Layla, you need to start believing in yourself. Prove to your family that you can make a real success of your life. What is it they say? The best revenge is doing well?’
She grins, liking this idea. Then her face drops again. ‘Trouble is, it actually doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do because nothing is ever good enough for them.’
She folds her arms and looks sulkily at the ground, but not before I notice the slight sheen to her eyes.
‘Hey, your family loves you to bits, however harsh they might be,’ I say softly. ‘And don’t you ever forget that. You know what would make them happy? If you went back to college and studied for your exams then took up a proper career.’
She glares at me, her eyes glittering with angry tears. ‘It’s so simple to you, isn’t it? But you really haven’t a clue. It would take me years …’
‘Of course it wouldn’t.’
‘Oh, believe me, it would.’
‘But you’re so bright! I honestly think you’d get straight As if you really put your mind to it!’
‘Yeah, right.’ She laughs scathingly. ‘You’re living in cloud cuckoo land, as my dear mother would say, if you really think that.’
We lock eyes for a moment and her chin trembles.
Then she storms off down the garden path, a
lmost slamming the gate off its hinges.
I trail into the kitchen, exhausted, a feeling of deep sadness washing over me.
I hate myself for shouting at her and possibly breaking the delicate bond we’ve forged over our work in Ivy Garden.
What if she doesn’t come back?
I’m surprised at how sad this makes me feel. I’ve got used to her moods and her daft jokes, and that wise way she has of knowing how I’m feeling almost before I realise it myself. I’d miss her a lot if she didn’t come back …
On the other hand, I can quite see how she drives Prue and Jack to distraction with her lack of thought for others and total inability to plan for her future.
Then I think of it from Layla’s point of view. She’s worked wonders with Ivy Garden already and has obviously picked up a lot of knowledge working at the garden centre, so why on earth didn’t Prue ask her to help, instead of employing me?
Reliability, I suppose. Prue wants someone who will show up when they’re expected, which is not something she could take for granted with Layla. And that, of course, would lead to more family friction. Perhaps Prue just wants to avoid making things worse between her and her daughter? Still, I think I will mention Layla’s green fingers to Prue next time I see her. Not that I want to talk myself out of a job, of course. My weekly wage is proving very useful indeed.
I make some tea and go back to bed, still feeling exhausted after yesterday’s incredible discovery. It still hasn’t properly sunk in that I have a grandfather, somewhere out there.
Connie phones and we chat for a while, and all the time I’m wondering whether I should tell her about the diary. At one point she actually asks me if I’m all right because I sound a bit distant. But I assure her I’m just tired.
I’m still not ready to tell anyone about my discovery. I need time to process it myself first and decide what to do. Because I’m not even sure where to start …
Just as I finish talking to Connie, there’s a knock at the door.
It’s Layla again.
She nods across the road. ‘Just been over there and the nettles are sprouting up again. I could do with some help.’
I smile at her, knowing this is her way of apologising. The storm has raged and blown itself out in the blink of an eye. Teenage hormones! I’d rather be on my own to think, quite frankly, but the last thing I want is for Layla to feel she’s being rejected all over again, so I say, ‘Okay. Give me a mo and I’ll get dressed and join you.’
We work in the garden in companionable silence for a while, which suits me because I want to think about the diary. The mystery lover she called ‘Bee’.
Layla breaks into my thoughts. ‘Was Ivy really strict with you when you were my age?’
I stop digging and lean on the fork to think. ‘I went through a stage of being embarrassed because she was so much older than all my friends’ parents. I cringe now to think how I behaved. But I’m sure Ivy understood it was just my age.’
‘It would be nice if Prudence could be understanding,’ she says testily.
I sigh. ‘Teenagers and parents. It’s not easy. You’re definitely not the only seventeen-year-old who’s felt misunderstood. But you have to remember that your mum is just acting in a way she thinks is best for your welfare. And sometimes you sort of have to read between the lines of what she says to you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, just because she’s sometimes hard on you, doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. In fact, quite the opposite. Jack as well. They just want what’s best for you. They think they’re doing the right thing by being a bit tough with you sometimes. They want you to make something of your life.’
‘I suppose so.’ She sighs. ‘But Mum’s not exactly a great role model as far as that’s concerned.’
I glance at her, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
Layla shrugs. ‘She refuses point blank to go into the village. She makes up all these excuses like she prefers to do her shopping in Stroud – but I know it’s because she’s terrified she might bump into her arch enemy, this witch called Robina Worsley.’
‘Really?’ Prue doesn’t seem like the sort of person who’d be intimidated by anyone. ‘Why is she afraid of her?’
She frowns. ‘No idea. Won’t talk about it. Classic case of denial.’
‘It’s sad she can’t be part of the village community.’
‘I know. She’s never even been to the Appleton summer fete. Can you believe that?’ She gives me an incredulous look. ‘She loves the helter skelter and they have one at the fete every year – and all she does is stare at it from the upstairs study window. I’ve seen her. Of course, she’d deny it if you asked her.’
We’re silent for a while, absorbed in our own thoughts.
‘It’s funny,’ I say at last, ‘you can think you know someone inside out, know everything about their life and what makes them tick. And then you discover something surprising about them that totally rocks your world and makes you realise you never knew them as well as you thought you did.’
Layla glances at me curiously. ‘Oh, yeah?’
I nod, thinking of Prue. And Ivy and Bee.
‘Sounds to me like you’re talking about something else altogether now,’ Layla says, with a sly sideways glance.
I glance across. ‘No, no.’
She gives me a doubtful look.
‘Fancy some lemonade?’ I quickly offer. ‘This is thirsty work.’
‘Do you have anything stronger?’ Layla perks up at the mention of refreshments.
‘Such as?’
She grins. ‘Cider?’
I laugh. ‘In this heat? You’d fall asleep on the job. And anyway, you’re too young.’
Layla shrugs. ‘That’s only in pubs. Obvs. I’m allowed to drink at home.’
I collect some soft drinks then return to Ivy Garden, smiling to myself. Layla can sound wise beyond her years at times, but then in a flash she’ll betray how young she actually is. A typical teenager, really …
I’m itching to ask her about Sylvian again but I know I have to go carefully. She could very easily storm off again if I ask the wrong questions.
‘So have you known Sylvian long?’ I say, when we’re sitting on the grass with our drinks.
She shrugs. ‘Just since he’s been living here. Why?’
It’s my turn to shrug. ‘Nothing really. He just seems a bit older than your other mates, that’s all.’
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with him, does it?’
‘No,’ I say carefully. ‘I would just hate you to get yourself into trouble and ruin your future, that’s all.’
‘And that’s going to happen because I’m friends with Sylvian?’ she snaps. ‘You do realise I’ve had this lecture already – from Mum and from my dear brother?’
‘They care,’ I tell her simply. ‘And so do I.’
‘Well, you don’t need to worry about me. Any of you. I’m well able to look after myself.’
‘I’m sure you are, I say softly. ‘I just got worried when I saw Sylvian giving you those parcels.’ I shrug. ‘It was probably perfectly innocent and I definitely don’t want to pry, but—’
She gives a harsh laugh. ‘But you’re going to anyway.’
I sigh, torn between the impulse to let it drop and wanting to reassure myself that she’s not up to anything dodgy.
‘You know,’ I say carefully. ‘If you’re doing anything you’d rather your family didn’t know about, you can always talk to me about it. You can trust me, I promise.’
She keeps staring down at the grass, her face set in a frown.
At last, she looks up. ‘You really expect me to believe you’re not going to just run off and tell tales to Mum and Jack? If I tell you …?’
My heart starts beating a little faster. ‘You have my word.’
Oh bugger, please don’t let it be too bad. Otherwise it’s a promise I’m going to find very hard to keep …
&nb
sp; EIGHTEEN
‘So what’s with the terrified look?’ Layla demands. ‘I’m not dealing drugs, if that’s what you think.’
‘I didn’t for one moment imagine you were, Layla,’ I say, hoping I sound sincere. ‘But I can tell from your face that something’s going on and I just think that if we’re going to continue working together in the garden, we need to be able to trust each other.’
She glares and folds her arms.
‘Look, we can’t talk here. Why don’t we go back to Moonbeam Cottage?’ I suggest, but her obstinate expression remains in place.
‘Okay.’ I shrug. ‘That’s a shame, though. I made some ice-cream with the wild raspberries you found the other day and I wanted you to taste it. See what you thought. I’ve never tried making ice-cream before and I’m sure you’re more of an expert than I am.’
She sighs, relenting. ‘Okay.’ She eyeballs me fiercely. ‘As long as you say you believe me that it’s nothing bad.’
‘I do believe you.’
‘Good.’
We gather our things and walk back over in silence to Moonbeam Cottage. My mind ticks over nervously all the way.
Okay, so not hard drugs, then. That’s a relief. But perhaps it’s something else that’s habit-forming? And if so, I’ll have to try and persuade her it’s not a great idea. Trouble is, I’m not exactly experienced in this kind of thing …
Once inside, I serve up dollops of the raspberry ice-cream, which luckily has frozen nicely and is a big success. Layla gives it the thumbs up. When we’ve finished, she clears away the bowls and I follow her through to the kitchen.
‘So are you going to tell me?’ I ask, keeping my tone cheery.
She leans back against a worktop and folds her arms, and for a moment, I think she’s going to flatly refuse. Then she heaves a long sigh. ‘Okay, but if I tell you, you’ve got to swear on your life you won’t breathe a word to Mum and Jack.’
My heart sinks. She looks so agonised, it has to be something really bad, which puts me in a terrible position. How can I not tell her mum?
‘Promise?’ she urges.
The Secrets of Ivy Garden Page 15